


Lucid Dreaming

by fromthedepthsofinsanity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, First Chapter Smut, Kidnapping, Original Character(s), Slavery, Strong Language, Trauma, strong sexual situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedepthsofinsanity/pseuds/fromthedepthsofinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Inspired by Starz's 'Spartacus'- Post-Game - In which Fenris and Hawke are separated by Danarius's disciple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, and all of its characters are property of Bioware. I make no profit, nor will I ever, from this work of fiction.
> 
> Please let me know if there are any other tags you think needed to be added. Thank you!

"Well, that's it then. Just the two of us now."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say you were complaining, Hawke."

He was expecting a smart-ass remark, but was only met with silence. Shining emerald flickered over his shoulder to the dark-haired beauty behind him. She'd been quiet since settling, and it made the little hairs on his body stand on end. In his experience, there were three main reasons for Marian's silence and all were to be dreaded; either she was plotting something nefarious, her anger was getting the best of her, or her thoughts were becoming all-consuming. Fenris couldn't recall giving Marian any reason or opportunity to plan a prank on him, at least not today; the only other thing he could think of rubbing her raw (aside from being the most wanted person in Kirkwall and being on-the-run) was the band of bandits that had stupidly decided to attack them. But even that seemed like a stress-relief at best and an annoyance at worst. Those poor bastards hadn't stood a chance.

Which meant that Marian was thinking, and Fenris's heart went out to her.

They'd lost so much in such a short time, and the slow trickle of friends leaving their party did nothing to soothe the burn. Varric's and Anders's had been the last and the worst. Fenris was more than happy to see that abomination leave, but though Hawke had put on a smiling, understanding face, their departure had cut deep. Deeper than Fenris had realized.

How was he to know? They had continued on as if nothing had happened.

"Tell me what you're thinking," His voice dropped low and purposeful.

She didn't answer right away; she took a moment to gather her words and steel herself for the inevitable onslaught, "I'm dangerous,"

"We've had this conversation, I believe," His tone wasn't dismissive or grating, but musing.

The mage seemed to recoil, as if prodded too hard, all the same, "Maybe it's best if I was alone."

"Do you want to be alone, Hawke?"

"I never said I wanted to be," She murmured and busied herself with unpacking, "It might just be what is best for everyone; for Varric, for Anders, for Carver and Merrill," She paused, but only briefly, "For you."

Quickly, his reply came, "I won't abandon you."

Fenris's words were strong and very true; he was confident in them, even as a stone of worry rolled around in his stomach. He feared her next words and he feared he had spoken in the wrong way in his bluntness, but he wouldn't retract his feelings. Even if they came off aggressive or possessive, he meant them; he would follow Hawke no matter where she went, even if she came to hate him.

Even if she wanted to destroy him completely.

The possibility was all too real. He had witnessed many a mage end others, and he had witnessed Hawke's wrath. As certain and vain as he was about his abilities and accomplishments, he was equally certain and vain about Hawke's. Where he would hesitate should they come to blows, she would not, and what was worse, he would let her do what she wished. Unlike so many before, Hawke's punishment would not stem from a twisted need to assert dominance over him, nor a deranged want of macabre entertainment. It would be a loss of her well-trained control due to his own failings and lack of consideration.

He feared his words would spark the end of her.

But the malice never came; instead, softness in the form of a whisper, "Maybe you should."

In two strides, he was behind her and crushing her back against his chest. He could feel the slight tremble she was desperately trying to hold down and was keenly aware of the tension coursing through her. Fenris buried his face into her hair, just behind her ear.

"But I won't. I don't think I should."

Marian placed a warm hand over his and laced their fingers together. The thrum of mana that naturally buzzed beneath her skin lit up his markings pleasantly. It was familiar, it was gentle, and it was welcome. Marian and Fenris had had little time to hold one another, to just be Marian and Fenris, an item, a pair; up until this moment, they were Hawke's Criminal Group, Slayers of Establishment and Civility, and Enemy to the Chantry. It was  _nice_  to just be them, even if it was in the middle of nowhere in half-made campsite.

"You're hurt," Marian suddenly said, lifting her hand from further up his arm and staring at the redness painting it.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"Let me see," She turned in his embrace to get a better look. Naturally, he made a move to pull away. Marian would not let him get away so easily, and held tight to his forearms, "Let. Me. See."

Begrudgingly, he sat down, let her remove the spiked plates from his shoulder, and hissed at the feel of probing fingers at his wound. It ran from his shoulder down the length of the back of his arm. Just a scratch, her ass. It was deep, and it was already angry. Marian swore under her breath. She should have bought those reinforcements for his armor in the last town they visited instead of the elfroot potions she could have made herself.

Sighing, she summoned up her mana and pressed the green glow onto the wound. Fenris sighed in relief. There was never a moment when he didn't anticipate the pain and shock of magic coming in contact with his skin. Hawke had never caused that pain, but he could not stop the reaction. If he was to be perfectly honest, it made the touch Hawke pressed on him all the more soothing.

"I don't know why you feel the need to hide these things from me. I can take care of you very easily. I would never hurt you on purpose."

"I know," He looked over his shoulder at her. "I know."

They stared at each other for a pregnant moment and let the pleasant tension fold onto itself until it was thick and palatable. As the wound became nothing more than a faint seam, Hawke rushed forward in time with Fenris and they met each other halfway. He twisted, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her to rest against his body. Every kiss they had shared had been like this; whether they started out slow or not, it escalated without restraint until they were totally immersed in one another. This time was no different. By the time Marian and Fenris pulled away reluctantly from each other, they were both panting, red-faced messes.

She ran her hands through his snowy white hair, and he replied with a gentle knead to her back and a cup to her cheek. She pursed her lips as she always did to hold down her smile, "You still wear that thing."

"What thing?" Marian slowly trailed down his arms with the soft pads of her fingertips until she came to the red band around his right wrist, "Ah, yes. Of course I do."

"You don't have to. Everyone already knows we've slept together. I've told everyone already."

He didn't bat an eye at her words and let them roll off him, "I like wearing it. It makes me feel," Fenris paused, mulling over his vocabulary, "Powerful. Able. Loved."

Without warning, Hawke undid the knot and pulled the long strip of fabric off him. She sprung up with all the agility of a rogue and danced just out of his reach when he made a grab at her. He gave her a pointed look.

"Give that back, Hawke."

"You want it?" She dangled the bright red between two fingers and let it wave at him teasingly in the slight breeze. He opened his mouth to answer, but halted as she moved. She made sure she had Fenris's full attention as she pushed open her skirts at the slits in the side and revealed her pale thigh. Moving slowly, the lucky fabric wound around the supple flesh and was tied tight. Her fingers linger for a moment too long against her own skin, running slowly upward toward the faintest flash of her smalls, "Come get it."

He rose, a fluid, graceful motion, and moved toward her. He expected her to duck away and tease him the moment he raised his arms to grab her, but to his surprise, she stood still, patient and open to the embrace. Even through his thick armor, he could feel the scorching heat of her hands as she ran them up from his hips, over the planes of his chest, around his neck, and into his hair. Hawke made to pull him down for a kiss, and he diverted, knowing should they lock lips, they would become frenzied and lost. He wanted this to last.

She made a face, but followed his line of thinking, and began to work at the various ties and straps holding his armor together. One by one, each bit tumbled off him heavily until a pile formed at their feet. Fenris felt at his most naked like this. He hardly exposed anything with his clothes still on. The tight, supple fabric hugged him and reminded him it was still there, but without the weighted metal and sharp edges, he was terribly, terribly vulnerable. All his instincts screamed to cover himself back up, push Hawke into the nearest hole, sit at the entrance, and try to regain some of his lost security.

As if Hawke would allow it, he thought in exasperation.

He nearly jolted at the press of her hand at the join of his hip. She paid no mind to the obvious discomfort the loss of his armor caused and wanted every bit of focus on her. Her long fingers danced over the hidden hem of his pants to the split of his jacket, already open at the bottom, and made their way up to his throat, skillfully separating each hook and eye. The garment drifted apart limply, as if spent and satisfied, and Fenris shrugged it off unceremoniously. His hands cupped her cheeks, and hers went down to the ties of his trousers, just as easily opening them and ridding him of them.

"I don't like doing all the work, you know," Said Hawke, deliberately avoiding his kiss just as he did hers, "I want to be naked too."

If there was one thing Fenris could honestly he say he loved about mage's robes, it was just how easily they came off. With five tugs to the ties at her front and sides, the weathered silk fell from her willowy frame in a smooth cascade and delicately pooled at her feet. She looked so soft in these moments. Had Fenris been looking at her with fresh eyes, he would have never thought she had seen battle, never thought she had held a blade in her velvety hands, never thought that she had felt the hot splash of blood across her incredibly edible-looking, pale flesh. She looked built for a life of pampering, of doting, of affection, and of love on the deepest levels.

Once or twice Fenris had glanced at such women in Tevinter, women who were pretty, kind, and full of smiles, and he had loved them so very deeply. They were something unobtainable and easily broken and, mage or not, Fenris never wished any harm on the innocent. He wanted so deeply for them to remain ignorant, untarnished, and belonging to no one but themselves. It was the cruelest of wishes. Hawke, while a noble for a short time, would not be pampered, could not be bothered with the song and dance called proper procedure, and would not allow herself to be seen as a woman who could not tie her own shoes or cry piteously over a pricked finger.

Oh, but how Fenris would love to dress her up like a doll, place her in a house built just for them, and dote on her with everything she wanted and so much more.

How pretty she would look, how very un-Hawke-like and boring. Fantasies were great, but having a squirming, keening, rambunctious rebel in his grip, butting heads with him at every turn, was so much better. He couldn't imagine Hawke having to be waited on hand and foot, being  _kept_ , but she sure looked the part at times. He loved just how she could look one way and act and  _be_  another. She was a turbulent, unmanageable whirlwind, capable of the greatest changes any mortal had ever seen, and she couldn't be stopped. Her will was so unbreakable; she was so strong, so inhuman; and she was his hero. She hated that word with a passion, but he would tell her endlessly if he could get away with it. She was his hero, she was his idol, she represented everything that he was not in his previous life.

He hated thinking about Hawke in chains, but had she been a slave, he liked to think that maybe she wouldn't have stood for it as long as he had, that maybe the establishment would now be up in flames just as everything else was at this point.

"Where'd you go, firefly?" She whispered against the skin of his neck. He shivered pleasantly at both the feel of her so close to him and the pet name she lovingly bestowed, "Don't get so lost in your thoughts. It can be dark in there."

"Just admiring you," He muttered back, smiling against her dark hair, "Taking note of the color of your underclothes."

She snorted with restrained laughter, "Well, if that's the case, sorry to interrupt."

Truth be told, he had been taking in the deep, shimmering teal binding her breasts and concealing her most private of areas. He loved the color on her and had told her many times before. It led to her to buying multiple outfits and lingerie in teal and flaunting them around his mansion in an attempt to get him to rip it all off. It had worked, of course. It was rare that Hawke's plans didn't.

It was rarer still that Fenris allowed her to get away with it.

Without warning, Fenris bent his head and latched onto her breast through the band, attacking it with fervor and shattering their languid pace entirely. She gasped and arched up to him, giving him the opportunity to lift her off the ground and devour her. Her hands sought purchase against his broad back and hard shoulders, but couldn't settle anywhere, not with his mouth working so eagerly on her chest and his arms holding her so securely against him. Hawke could only wrap her svelte legs around his waist and hope his teasing didn't go on for longer than absolutely necessary.

Of course, Fenris's length of time for "absolutely necessary" was very different than Hawke's, and he would take every opportunity to tease her until the day he died. He expected no less from her, in return.

"Hurry," Marian rasped.

He bent too far forward and began to fall. His hands shot out instinctively, catching the ground before Hawke's back could collide with the hard dirt and stone. So wound was she around him that she never moved even during the jolting fall and keened at the loss of his lips against her. He wanted to give her an earful. Whining about him stopping when just a moment ago she wanted nothing more, and never mind the spill they nearly took that would have no doubt scraped her back to all hell.

Well, that was bound to happen anyway, he thought, holding down a smirk.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he responded by taking the edge of her breast band between his teeth, pulling it back, and releasing it with a sharp snap. She jerked and glared; he returned the eyebrow raise, a challenge she picked up on immediately. Clicking her tongue with a shake of her head, Hawke couldn't quite believe he wanted to play around  _now_  of all times. She took too long to decide whether or not to accept; Fenris's hand went down to her thigh to the red band around it and made to tug.

Instantly, Hawke twisted, flipping their positions, and held Fenris's hands at his sides. If he wanted to, he could have easily broken free of the mage's hold, but he rather liked looking up at her.

"No," She said firmly.

"You told me to come get it."

" **No** ," She repeated, pursing her lips childishly, "Get it after."

She drummed her fingers briefly on his wrists and relaxed her grip. Marian would allow him to move, but didn't fully trust Fenris not to pull the same stunt he had tried moments ago. He was famous for twisting her tighter than a coil and dropping her hard without being the least bit effected, and she would have none of it this time. It'd been too long, too many ears listened for them, too many eyes watching them, and too many mouths to gossip and tease them. That was all gone now, and that fact both hurt and relieved her.

Fenris tested the limits of his movement, slowly lifting his arms up from the ground and resting his hands on her knees. She instantly tensed and glared, tightening her grip in warning. As if Marian had the strength to hold Fenris down when he was determined. He moved up her thighs, treading dangerously close to the beautiful crimson wrap, and jumped clean over it to grab her hips in a near desperate grip. He chuckled, and Marian smiled triumphantly.

Marian released his wrists completely and rid herself of her breast band, tossing it amongst her forgotten robes. His hardness made itself more known, pressing insistently against the soft, prominent curve of her bottom. He looked torn suddenly; his thumbs played with the delicately folded and ruffled edges of her smalls, but his eyes were locked on her recently freed breasts.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to settle, as futile as it was, "Lift, uhh, lift up a bit."

Marian smirked and complied, raising herself off his hips and allowing him to slide the obstructing fabric off her. When tossed, it didn't quite make it to the rest of their clothing, but that hardly mattered. They could clean up later. Marian didn't have a chance to rest herself back on his hips. She arched as she was suddenly assaulted by a thumb flicking across her nipple and fingers at her core, and keened at each tiny movement of his long, strong digits.

" _Fenris_ ," She breathed, digging her nails into his chest and dragging them across the taut planes just enough to cause angry, red lines to bloom.

He hissed and bit his lip.

He wanted to sit up and devour her open mouth. He wanted to crush her against him and bury himself into her warmth. He wanted to swallow every one of her cries and have her taste a few of his own. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't adore and crave the slow motions of foreplay, especially with Marian being as deliciously expressive as she was.

She gave up on clawing him and took to covering his hands with hers. Marian made no move to stop him, but the desperate grip she had on his lyrium-covered limbs spoke volumes, along with the slight, rhythmic roll of her hips down against the digits still buried inside. He spread his fingers, earning a ringing whine and a trailing, opened-mouthed moan, and he smiled.

"I love you," He sighed, moving one hand from cupping her breast to the soft, round plumpness of her arm. He wished he could have comfortably reached her cheek, but he could convey his message just as effectively by rubbing the skin of her bicep with his thumb as he could over her lips, eyelid, or cheekbones.

Where another woman would have paused at such tenderness, Marian flourished. She took pity on him and leaned down, pressing herself as comfortably as possible against him from stomach to shoulder, and peppered his face with kisses.

She tittered, "Mmm, you say that now."

Fenris wanted to frown, "What will I be saying later?"

"My name," Her warm breath tickled his ear as she spoke into it, "For the record, I love you too."

Her teeth found the tip of his ear and worried it tenderly. Fenris shuddered and abandoned her core in favor of crushing her frame against his. His heart raged against his ribs, but the only part of him that could escape was his low moan. He hated that she knew how sensitive his ears were. She often abused the privilege of being close to him and knowing his weak spots.

" _Hawke_ ," He nearly whimpered, trying to twist his head away from her mouth to no avail. The blush on his face had grown too hot for his liking, and the constant stimulation to his sensitive points was bordering on painful now, "Enough."

Her giggle made his legs twitch, "Alright, firefly. I hear you."

She sat up, leaving Fenris equal parts cold and relieved, and carefully slid her hips back to rest against his thighs. The soft pads of her fingers made a curvy trail down his body and stirred the lyrium patterns to life as they passed by. Fenris swallowed and licked his lips as he watched those wonderfully lithe digits take their time to travel down him, get lost in the scant hair below, and circle around the root of him before seizing. Momentarily, the sparkling emerald was blotted out by suddenly closing lids. He was sure he made some noise, but he didn't hear himself; he couldn't.

His eyes opened at the loss of her weight against him, just in time to see her guide him into her warmth. Her arch was perfect as their hips met in long anticipated union. Her whole body was bare to his feasting eyes. Mana danced like fairy-light across her skin for a moment, a flare from her undying sun, and his marks responded, a twinkling signal. He heard her groan, a long, wanting call from deep inside her body, and neither moved for a moment.

He felt almost new. Having not been this connected with Marian in months left him feeling over-sensitive and jumpy now. She felt nearly the same, having to sit still much longer to readjust to his girth and not really wanting to. But if Hawke was to be known for anything, it would be for her quick adaptation. She grabbed his shoulders and urged him up to meet her. Ferociously, they met in a kiss full of tongue and teeth.

She clung to his cheeks, and he to her waist and back. They hadn't even begun to move and already, they were more than enough for the other.

Fenris was the first to venture the slightest thrust of his hips, and the cycle began. Marian lifted herself just enough to roll against him and meet his movements. All noise they made was eaten by the other. The need for air was the only cause of their separation, and even that was brief, barely satisfying, a  _hindrance_. His hands kneaded her back and grabbed everywhere as they journeyed down. They stopped their groping only to tightly grasp her hips, urge them to pick up the pace he had set. Still, Hawke wouldn't release Fenris's face.

She couldn't care how fast or slow they went, so long as he was close, so long as he moved, so long as he continued to drown her in his love. The slide of every inch into her sent her nerves into a frenzy. His hands left scorching paths in their wake. His lyrium markings burned brands into her flesh and had her mana screaming to be unleashed. He glowed so brightly against her. She wanted to be impossibly closer to him, to hear the sweet hum of his body, to have him buried so deeply into her systems they couldn't be separated or distinguished.

Marian ripped away from their kiss and let out a cry. He twisted slightly with a thrust, hitting her at a new angle, and dipped a hand between them to teasingly circle around the bud at her core. Her toes curled at the sensation. It was enough to coax more nerves to life, yet not enough to be too much or painful. He lazily kissed her throat, murmuring Tevinter words she should have known, but could not bring to the front of her pleasure-addled mind.

She called his name like a cry for help and clung to him as if she were to be snatched away any moment. Had she been in her right mind, Marian would swear that she would be. Either snatched out of a dream or cut off by someone or another, it would have happened.

" _Mellita,_ " He rasped into her jaw, "I love you."

They came undone. The spring that had been slowly winding since they began their dance released every ounce of energy with his last word. Hawke's thighs tightened at his waist as her inner muscles tightened around his arousal. Fenris's muscles rippled and jumped at the aftershock. Neither moved. Both were afraid of the protests their bodies would no doubt lob at them should they try too soon, but neither wanted to disentangle from the other, even long after their high had settled into a pleasant buzz.

Her fingers found his hair and rubbed his scalp. The first venturing of movement had been made. Fenris sighed against her shoulder. His eyelids were getting heavier with every blink and Hawke's insistence on petting him was not helping the issue. Her lips found his ear, and again, he shuddered.

"Hawke," He warned.

"Sorry," She slurred, "I forgot."

"Mmm."

Tightening his hold, Fenris fell gracelessly to the side, bringing her down with him. Groping about, he grabbed a nearby pack, retrieved a blanket, covered them, and rested his head against the now near-flat sack. Slowly, they moved to separate themselves. Toes curled, muscles jumped, bodies protested, and sighs escaped. Hawke laid her head against his chest, uncaring of the cold dirt under her naked body and the mess they had made.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her dark hairline, " _Te valde amo ac semper amabo._ "

She sighed heavily, "It's a little too soon after the fact to be teasing me, Fenris."

"I was not teasing."

"And I am too comfortable to play translator. Just tell me what you said," Marian waited, and Fenris remained silent. She looked up at him when he said nothing, "Fenris."

"Hmm?"

"What did you say?" Still, he didn't elaborate. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, "You know I am dangerously close to your nipple."

"Marian, if you venture to bite my breast out of spite, I will kick you off me."

"Fine. Don't tell me then. I'm sure you were just being a smartass anyway."

"Mmm."

"You're telling me in the morning."

"Maybe."

Their lips met one final time before they drifted off.

.:||~||:.

The sun was graciously warm and pleasant as it rose over the horizon. It caressed the pair, shooing all bitter breeze and cold night away from their still nude bodies, and gently coaxed them to rise. They didn't heed its call. They needn't start so early and move on today. The familiar symphony of birds and busy beasts lulled them, kept them floating on the edges of the fade and reality, and they were content to just listen for the moment.

Hawke stretched slightly with a sleepy sigh. She made to sit up and readjust herself against Fenris, but she wouldn't even be able to lift her shoulders from the ground. She was seized violently by her hair, arms, and ankles. She cried out, kicked, jerking her long legs fruitlessly against the bruising hold, and punched, clipping one of her attackers and stunning them long enough for her to make a mad grab for her nearby staff. Marian's fingers brushed the cool ironbark, but could not wrap around it and end those who dared to ruin her morning before she was ripped further away.

She felt weak, weaker than she had ever been before. Something nagged at her brain. She knew this weakness, this drain.

_Templar._

She tensed. They had finally found her. She wasn't careful enough.

"Fenris!" She shrieked, reaching through the gaps in the men taking her away.

She expected him to be instantly there with a hand through a chest, crushing a heart, and sword impaled through another, but what she saw made her blood turn to ice. Fenris was also being held. Two men gripped his arms, holding them out to the sides, and kept him on his knees. Another stood before him with a bloody finger pressed to his forehead. His markings were alight and scraping every nerve in the elf.

"Fenris!"

He had reacted the moment that first cry left her throat. Blindly, he had sprung up, following the loss of her warmth against him, and gripped empty air for her. He had destroyed one who had made an ignorant grab at him, one who dared to stand between him and Marian, but he was too late from the beginning, and their attackers were much too coordinated to be brought down easily.

Though, that would never stop Fenris from trying. He stumbled as he twisted on his heels and lunged for his sword not even five feet from where he stood, but he too was grabbed and forced down, and his blade was kicked further from his grasp. He flared, a white beacon of warning and the very last the overconfident fools would see before he strangled the life from them.

That is until the mage had made himself known, strutting from the shadows as if Fenris was not a threat, as if he completely controlled the situation with a man already dead. Fenris didn't want to pause, but he did. He knew the mage, and memories stalled his escape.

"Iason," He growled, every bit the wolf he was named for.

"Do not think you can speak my name, slave."

Iason pressed the tip of his index finger to a concealed spike on his ring. The smell of copper mixed with mana overwhelmed his senses, throwing him back to a time of petty punishments and morbid sport. He couldn't squirm away from the bubbling red as it pressed against his forehead. Distantly he heard Marian cry out for him again, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Fenris was completely at Iason's mercy, what little there was to be had.

His ears rang, and his body jerked as Iason pulled away. The blood magic that kept him limp and weak still tore him to bits long after he had stopped. The hands on his arms weren't as tight, but even though Fenris recognized the opportunity, he wouldn't be able to exploit it.

"It's certainly been a while, hasn't it, slave?" Iason's voice could barely be heard over the horrid ringing, "You've been running for a long time. It's about time you've been caught and put down."

Fenris's head rocked slightly as he tried to focus and overcome the deafening ring burrowing further into his brain. Iason was speaking again, but he couldn't make out any more words. His lack of response earned him a metal-coated knee to his ribs, and a weakened wheeze was squeezed from him.

"I asked you a question."

Fenris blinked slowly, "Danarius is dead."

His face was grabbed, mouth covered by a broad palm, and nails bit harshly into his cheeks. Fenris's heart sped up, remembering that a mage didn't have to use his own blood; a slave's blood would do just as well in a pinch. Iason's nails were dangerously close to breaking through and pulling a sticky red to the surface.

"That's not what I asked you," Iason spat, "But that's exactly why I'm here," Fenris didn't react. He could say nothing clearly anyway, and Iason would not listen to his words, "A slave killing his master. A grave crime with multiple punishments, but you know this already. You've seen more than one of your kind put down for the same idiotic attempts," Iason ripped away from Fenris, finally slicing open his cheek. Fenris held down a shudder and waited for the pull of magic, "You succeeded. You must be so proud."

"He deserved what he got," Fenris hissed, overcoming his fear, "And I hope every man, woman, and child he's ever wronged and killed is waiting on the other side to show him true suffering."

He was struck so hard his teeth felt rearranged. His lip was split wide and more blood slid over his skin. The touch of red against his lyrium markings sparked the first tingling. It rattled him, but he wouldn't show it.

"Danarius was more than a great man, better than any other Magister in the Imperium. He went further than any other dared and discovered wondrous things, things others could only dream! You are testimony to this. You have no right to judge him and even less to take his life!"

Fenris chuckled despite himself, "Still worshiping every step and breath he can't take, I see. Such a shame he chose Hadriana over you."

There was only a flicker of unhindered rage across Iason's face before Fenris was flung into a flurry of pain. His blood crackled against his skin as Iason pulled mana from both his markings and life to fuel his punishment. A continuous, unbroken cry escaped his chest in a long, high note. It felt like an eternity under the mage's mercy.

By the time Iason released him, the guards holding his arms were the only things keeping him mostly upright.

"You took a great life from this world, filth. At the very least, you should know a horrible, long, painful death, but as Danarius's former apprentice and now as Magister, the punishment for your crimes falls to me. First, your whore-"

"She had nothing to do with Danarius!" Fenris bellowed, somehow finding the energy buried deep, "Marian is innocent! She did nothing! I slaughtered that son of a bitch with my own sword!"

"Even if that were true, she cannot be spared. I hear she is a wanted woman. The Champion of Kirkwall, isn't she? She'll fetch a high price," Fenris tensed visibly, "Despite that, you can just call this a courtesy. A roll-over from her lover's poor judgment," His chest heaved as his blood boiled. His markings may not respond so soon after their assault, but Fenris had his strength. He just had to summon it. Iason leaned close to his ear, earning an angry growl from the wolf, "Die knowing that your woman will be passed around like a party favor. She'll occasionally starve. She'll be boiled and frozen. She'll be nothing but a pretty plaything, and she might not even be that by the time she's made her rounds. I cannot wait to see her at the end of her rope."

Fenris lunged, successfully pulling an arm from a guard's grasp, and landed a hard punch to Iason's cheek. The guards scrambled to restrain him as Iason backed away. A delicate hand went up to his already swelling face as rage consumed his very being. Dark eyes sparkled with crackling mana as he turned to glare at the slave who dared to defy his will. Fenris was now sporting a few more bruises and scrapes.

"Kill him and leave him for the beasts."

Iason turned his back to Fenris. Emerald eyes followed the mage's retreating form and didn't notice a guard's movement until a shadow came across him. Fenris snapped his gaze up just as a hammer came down.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, Maker," The voice was as soft as the touch against his flaming skin, "Why must your children be so cruel? Take pity on this one. Allow him to live-"

"That's enough, Jessie!" A hiss, a cut through the fog, "The damn Maker has left us, if there ever was one! Stop calling him. He won't fucking answer!" There was a shift as the other voice drew closer, "If you want to help the poor bastard, get the cloth and potion like I told you."

There wasn't an immediate answer, but a sigh, "Yes, Finley."

A dream; Fenris must have been hovering on the edge of a dream. He couldn't move, and the world around him was black. The Fade gave him nothing but voices both confusing and disorienting.

"There we go," Finley, whoever he was, spoke close to him, "Hey, Elf? Can you hear me? This will probably hurt. Don't hit me or anything."

"He will not hit you."

"You never know. I've heard the Dalish'll kill you without a second thought."

"How can you be certain he's Dalish?"

"Look at him, Jessie. He's covered in those crazy tattoos, and he's as naked as a babe. You know they run around naked. Some sort of Old God worship."

Jessie sighed again, "Maker, show him the way."

"He wouldn't give a fuck about the Maker."

"I was referring to you."

Fenris didn't hear Finley's retort, if there was any. He was much too distracted with the sudden sting of medicine on his open wounds. The sensation brought him further from the Dream Plane and toward reality, but in so doing, he keenly felt a nagging ache. He knew the soreness; he knew the pain, but he couldn't place it to any memory. He groaned.

"I am sorry, my friend," Jessie murmured, "I know you must be in terrible pain."

"Almost makes me wish there was a mage about," Finley snorted, "Good luck asking them for anything though."

_Mage_.

Where was Hawke?

Everything came back to him in a rush: Varric and Anders leaving, Marian's misery, their intimacy, Iason, Marian being kidnapped.  _Marian being kidnapped._ Fenris snapped up and startled the two humans hovering over him. Jessie, a petite slip of a girl fresh into womanhood, scrambled away from him and clung to Finley, a scrawny boy barely able to muster up enough scruff to call a beard. He gripped her tightly and glared at Fenris, who ignored them both.

"Hawke!" He shrieked as he rolled over to be on all fours. Fenris managed to crawl to a tree stump and stumbled as he struggled to get to his feet, only to fail miserably, "Hawke!" He shouted again.

She wouldn't answer. He knew somewhere in the rational part of his mind that she wouldn't, but Fenris thought that maybe, just maybe, Hawke slipped away and was close enough to hear him. The chance was slim, but certainly there.

"Marian!"

He stood, took two steps, and fell with all the grace of a newborn calf. Jessie pulled out of Finley's tight grasp and slowly tiptoed toward the fallen elf, much to Finley's displeasure.

"You mustn't-" The woman tried to tell him as she reached down to help him back up.

He swatted at her as he forced himself up to his knees, "Stay back! You cannot help me!"

"If you would only let me-"

"No! I need-" Fenris wobbled and sat back to catch his balance. Slowly, the adrenaline fueling him failed and was replaced with a dark misery Fenris hadn't felt in years. His glittering emerald eyes were sealed away with the closing of his lids, the last line of defense against the sadness prickling in the ducts, "Hawke. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Mister Elf?" Fenris dared to open his eyes and turn his blurry gaze toward her. Jessie draped her shawl over his shoulders and knelt next to him, offering him a smile.

"Jessie! Get away from him!" Finley hissed.

"Do not worry," She whispered, ignoring Finley entirely and giving Fenris's shoulder a squeeze, "You're safe with us."

Fenris wanted to laugh. He hadn't the heart to tell her just how wrong she was. He wasn't safe. Hawke wasn't safe. He had no choice but to worry.

"Please, let us help you. You're very hurt, and you've lost a lot of blood," She reached up to smooth back the crusty locks of now red and brown hair. Jessie winced, obviously getting a good view of the deep gash in Fenris's head, "You do not want the rot to set in on this wound."

Rot. Fenris knew illness and infection very well. His memories didn't go back so far as to shine a light on his own experience, but he had seen it. Danarius was a ruthless owner; the weak deserved to die under their own filth in his eyes. Many a slave perished under the ravages a simple cut could inflict.

No, Fenris certainly did not want to test his odds against a pus-glutted promise of pain and fever, but neither could be afford to wait a single moment longer. He hadn't any idea just how long he had been unconscious. Hawke could be on a Tevinter auction platform at that exact moment, waiting for his distraction to create an opening for escape. He was letting her down by just sitting about feeling sorry for himself.

And feeling more than a little dizzy and cold.

"The Hitched Horse," He rasped, "I need to go. The Hitched Horse."

"The tavern? Hmm. Can't say I'd wouldn't be craving a pint too if I were you."

If looks could kill, Jessie's glare would have skinned and tanned him. Grumbling, Finley turned just enough to blunt the sharp expression and began to collect all he could. From what Fenris could see, it wasn't much. His clothing had been spared, as had most of his armor, but nothing else remained. Scavengers had picked clean the campsite's bones. He couldn't say he was surprised.

Using what little strength he had, he pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the nearest of his effects. Reaching down, he faltered and nearly fell. Instead of the leggings he wanted, his fingers brushed against the dark, shimmering fabric of Marian's robes. He filled his hands with the soft folds and brought it to his body. This had been her favorite of all the casual wear she owned. Whether roughing it in the woods or stalking through sewers, Marian always gravitated toward the well-loved robe. She had worn it when they first met; it was what he always imagined her in when speaking of her.

She'd been hauled away naked. She was forced to leave everything she loved behind. Hawke's story seemed to be repetitive with that event.

Fenris didn't get to savor the last lingering scents of her on her robes. He lost his balance, was blissfully caught by Finley and Jessie, and was lowered to the ground. He again swatted at them uselessly. Even he knew that in his condition, he hadn't any way to support himself. The black fuzzy edges of his gaze were all the proof he needed of that. Still, he had to try to hold onto some of dignity as a warrior.

However, he did allow Jessie and Finley to dress him. He even let them try again to clean the wound, but the moment they turned to find something suitable for him to bed down on, he rose. Clumsily, he forced one foot in front of the other as he made his way toward the treeline. They had walked through it from the road, if he recalled right. Just beyond would be the main path. From there, he could follow it south to the small town they had left Anders and Varric. If he knew the dwarf like he thought he did, Varric would still be at The Hitched Horse telling tales and buying drinks, checking contacts and making money in a way only Varric knew how.

The shouts in surprise and horror didn't stall him. He couldn't run and he couldn't stop them from stopping him, but Hawke was waiting. He would get to her.

Her name became his mantra to spur him. He hardly began to notice the two following him just a few paces behind, talking to him, trying to get him to stop. He hardly even noticed that his wound had reopened and began to bleed down his neck at some point in his journey. He hardly noticed the burn of dehydration and the ache in his stomach as his body cried for nutrients.

If there were any others on the trail, they never stopped. If any enemies popped from nowhere, they must have already thought him dead. He was very nearly there, but even the dead could walk, and he would until his mission was completed.

By the time he stepped foot into town, he was shut off from the world completely. It was black and white and shifted like the Fade. The people around him, avoiding him, were mere spirits dancing on the fringes of his final threads of life. The buildings were only solid obstacles; not one caught his eye and only served as a barrier in maze he thought he would never have to navigate again. Had he been of sounder mind, he might have laughed and asked someone if they had a ball of twine he could borrow.

The scent led him to the tavern more so than his flagging sight. Vomit, fire, alcohol, and sweat were pungent in the air about it. It smelt just as The Hanged Man had, and it almost made Fenris gain the energy to rush in. As it was, he fell in more than walked. The open door would not hold his weight as he leaned against it for support, but the floor was more than happy to accommodate.

Jessie and Finley rushed forward to collect him.

"Hey! You two! This is a place for people trying to get drunk! Not for the already drunk! Take his ass home!"

"He isn't drunk! He's-" Jessie tried.

"Maker's breath. Shut yer shit-spewing mouth and let him in! If he got money, he got ale!"

"Even if he don't, I'll buy him a lil sumthin just to piss you off."

"Don't be a jackass!"

"You're being the jackass. I'm being friendly."

The rumblings of voices and footfalls made Fenris queasy. The suddenly colorful room spinning in his blurry vision didn't alleviate the urge to heave. Somehow, with a little help from Jessie, he sat up.

"Varric!" He shouted, "Varric!"

"Now, it speaks."

"'It' is a 'he' and an elf, pus-stain!"

"If you're going act like that, you can take your leave. Maybe head toward Tevinter where they allow such discrimination. I won't have any of it in my tavern, thank you very much."

"Or just go outside. There's enough of it everywhere nowadays."

Fenris growled in frustration and tried to call for Varric again, but words failed him. The stimulation of a far too-crowded room on his spiritless, over-exhausted body was beginning to be too much. His forehead rested against the cold wood flooring, and he shut his eyes.

"Finley, help me get him off the floor. We need to find a healer-"

"And pay them with what, Jessie? He didn't have anything on him and neither do we."

"Broody?"

The tavern seemed to quiet all at once as Varric spoke. Fenris couldn't lift his head, he could barely flex his fingers, but he responded to him all the same. Just as he was about to fall under, Fenris forced his eyes to open. He didn't see much; he couldn't, but he at least could make out his friend's frame.

"Varric," He rasped, his voice no more than a coo, "Hawke."

"What about Hawke? Where is she? Maker's breath, Broody, just what have you done to yourself?" Fenris's eyes closed again in a languid, drained blink. Varric shook his head and looked to Jessie, "Where did you find him? What happened?"

"A ways north. He was off the path. When we found him, we thought he was dead."

"Might as well be," Finley included.

"Was there a woman with him? Did he say what happened?"

Jessie couldn't meet Varric's eye as she shook her head, "No, I'm sorry."

Varric sighed, "Don't be. Wasn't your fault. Hey!" The tavern's attentions were focused solely on Varric, "A man's bleeding to death here, and no one thinks to help? Get him up to my room!" There was a shuffle in response. The cool ground fell away from him as Fenris was lifted and moved. Again, distantly, he heard Varric's sigh, "Where's Blondie when you need him? Always wanderin' off."

"The mage said he'd be back soon. Stated something to the effect of herb hunting," The barkeep stated.

"Means he could be back in the next five minutes or the next five days," Varric rubbed his forehead, "Or not at all. Blondie's been getting antsy. Should send someone to look for him. As for Broody," Varric shook his head, "Can't do much without a healer."

"I have some Warrior's Bandage leaves. You can have them," The barkeep sighed, "Just promise not to let any of these inbreeders donate their spit for the poultice. I can only imagine the amount of putridity in their teeth. Poor soul's already disabled. No need to befoul him too," His voice grew quieter, his exasperation fading with it as he abandoned his post to root about in the storeroom.

"I'm sure we'll need it. Thanks, Rowan," muttered Varric.

"Umm, Mister Dwarf?" Jessie meekly called. Varric had nearly forgotten she was there, "Will he be alright? I have a few elfroot potions and some things I think are his. I'm not sure it'll help, but you can have it all."

"Mister Dwarf," Varric chuckled, "Varric is my name," He gave a slight bow, "I think I speak for the both of us when I say thanks. Broody wouldn't have gotten here by himself I'm sure."

"Broody," Finley spat, "Running out of really hard to pronounce names in the Dalish clans now?"

"Finley!" Jessie hissed, "Please!" Jessie bowed her head in apology, "I'm sorry for him. He's not been himself since," She went quiet, "Well, he's justifiably emotional. Maker guide him."

"Maker guide him," Finley growled, "Just tell everyone our life's story, Jessie."

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but stories will just have to wait. Look, there's an empty room here. Why don't I put you two up there for a couple nights while we sort this whole thing out? I need to find Blondie and make sure Broody doesn't die on us."

"Serah, that's very kind, but we couldn't accept-"

"We'll take it!" Finley announced.

"Finley-"

He drew her a little ways away from Varric and whispered, "Are you crazy? He's puttin' us up for free for helping his friend!"

"We were only following the Maker's path. It was the right thing to do. We don't need any more reward than that. I feel as though we're stealing from him."

"The Maker isn't going to put food in your belly or a roof over your head. This is as good as it gets. Let's take it, sleep here tonight, and leave all of this behind in the morning. If we're lucky, we'll get a hot meal or two out of this too."

"I don't know-"

"Jessie. Come on. Would you rather go sleep on the side of the road again? You really wanna sleep out in the cold, waiting for bandits to come rob us of all the nothing we have? Don't be stubborn!"

Finally, after a moment, she nodded, "Alright, but only to make sure he's in good hands."

"He'll be fine. You saw him. Any other person would have dropped dead halfway here, if they ever got up at all."

Varric had already left them when they finally made their decision. However, Rowan, the bartender, hovered in wait. When he caught their eye, he crooked two fingers in motion for them to follow. They were led past many rooms; all doors were shut save for one. Jessie caught a glimpse inside and saw the elf she helped save surrounded by many men and women trying to help as she had. She wanted to peek in; maybe even sneak her way into the middle of the calamity for a better look. Before she could make a move, she was pushed gently as a man, clothed in feather and stern of face, brushed past her and upset the crowd in the room.

"What happened?"

His alto soothed her with its layers of volume and tones, despite the anger coursing through. An eerie, blue glow was left in his wake, and she instantly knew him to be a mage.

"We don't know."

"Is he awake? Ask him!"

"Settle down, Blondie-"

"I won't! Wake him! Why is Hawke not with him?!"

The argument grew quieter as Finley directed her away and to their room.

"We don't know. No one does," Varric gently admitted, "Look, Broody needs attention. You're a great healer. The faster we get him up and about, the faster we'll know what happened."

"They left us not but a few hours ago!" Anders raged, "And look what's already happened!"

"Uhh, Blondie, you might want to calm it down. You're Justice is showing."

"Leave!" The command was made all the more intimidating with a flare of mana. The other tenants scattered, slamming the door in their wake.

"As if we weren't already conspicuous," Varric shook his head, "This might be a problem."

"They won't speak. Rowan will take care of everything."

"Yes, let's owe Rowan more favors. Good idea."

"Last I heard, he owed  _you_  favors," Anders was in no mood. He scoffed and grabbed Fenris's chin, inadvertently waking both the elf and his markings, "I know you can hear me. Tell us what happened, Fenris. Where is Hawke?"

"Marian," Fenris breathed her name, unable to do anything else.

"Yes. Marian. Very good. Where is she?" Anders hissed. Fenris was defeated. A heavy sigh left him as his eyes rolled back and he fell under, "Damn it!"

"He'll be up and about faster if he was healed," Varric reminded.

There was a knock at the door, and the guest didn't wait for someone to answer. Rowan walked in with bundles in hand, "My bar was full, and now even the so-drunk-they're-dumb have fled. I haven't any qualms with mages, but I will with one should he decide to lose his temper again. I'll charge double. Maybe even triple," Rowan tenderly gave a package of tightly-bound leaves to Varric, "And by 'he' I meant 'you.'"

Rowan glared at Anders, who responded with a sharp look of his own thrown over his shoulder.

"Yes, I gathered as much," Anders growled as he examined Fenris's head wound.

"Oh, good," Rowan sniffed, "I thought an explanation was needed as you  _were_  stupid enough to cause a ruckus in the first place. 'Please, Master Rogue-Templar, decapitate me in the middle of Rowan's tavern. He does so love cleaning up a good, bloody mess off his already disgusting floor.' Pah! Be ashamed, Runaway. Causing your benefactor this much trouble. Honestly."

"Not quite as much trouble as you make it seem, I suspect," Anders had lost most of his anger. He barely registered Rowan's jabs, "You've hushed it all up."

Rowan turned up his nose and crossed his arms. Of course he had. The Hitched Horse was not the finest tavern this side of the Waking Sea, but no one would (could) speak a horrid word about its goings-on. Rowan would not tolerate a bad review; an okay one occasionally, but certainly nothing that would scuff his boots.

Anders disrupted the silence again, but only to let out a noise of frustration, "I can't heal this."

"Sure you can, Blondie-"

"No, I mean, I  _shouldn't_  heal this. If I close this now, the infection will be trapped inside. We'll have to treat that first," Anders began to root around in his various trunks and tiny packs for herbs and catalysts, "Damn elf. Always getting into trouble."

"Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully," Rowan mused, earning yet another nasty look, "And the little miss had this," Again, Rowan passed a bundle to Varric, "She said it was all his. He also dropped something at the door. It's there as well. Now, as much as I'm sure you enjoyed my company, I must leave. More disasters to avert, you know."

Rowan left just as he had come in, uncaring of the response he received. Just as the door clicked shut behind him, Varric curiously opened the pack that had been handed to him. He had expected to see all the sharp bits of Fenris's armor glinting up at him, maybe even a flask or two; what he didn't expect to see was Hawke's robe. It tumbled out onto Varric's arms in a cascade of shimmering curls, as if still dusted and alive with its owner's magic. Varric dropped the rest of the pouch with a clatter and clung tight to the fabric. It had whiffs of her still.

"Blondie," He called, gaining the mage's attention.

Anders nearly followed Varric's lead in dropping everything he held in his hands. Thankfully, his grip didn't falter that badly.

"Hawke," Anders rasped, unable to look away from the robes.

"Broody, just what happened out there?"

.::||~||::.

Fenris bolted straight up from his reclined position, "Marian!"

"Maker! Fenris!" A cry of surprise, "Don't just pop up like that!"

He snapped his gaze sharply up to the voice's owner. She squatted at his side, hands on her knees and dressed in her light armor. She looked ready to spring up and fight, just as she always had. Hawke, his Hawke, was looking down at him with all the confusion and concern her expressive face could muster. The feelings were mutual, but Fenris didn't get to express them. Instead, awe pushed and shoved its way to the front, glinting and flashing for attention.

Suddenly, she smiled, a wicked twist that showed itself whether she was truly being impish, well-behaved, or suggestive.

"Are you alright then? You were looking a little worse for wear for a moment. Face all scrunched and grumpy, but, then again, what else is new?" She tittered, "I've been waiting forever, you know. You sleep like the dead," She suddenly frowned, very unsatisfied with the idiom, "Well, like most dead people. Or maybe just some dead people," She tapped her chin in thought, "Like dead people should. There we go."

"Hawke," Fenris breathed, not able to do much more than that.

He cupped her face in his hands and devoured her. She allowed it and lowered herself to sit on her knees, comfortably responding to every movement of his tongue and lips. She held onto his shoulders; though, he wasn't sure if it was to hold him at a steady distance or an attempt to slowly bring him closer. He wouldn't settle for slow. Not now, not after that horrible dream.

She ended up toppled, pushed down onto her back from his insistence. Try as Marian might, she couldn't keep down the wild bubble of laughter that popped on their lips, but it quickly faded into the haze of their fevered kissing. It wasn't gentle or even kind; neither was it harsh and selfish. It wanted and was lead along the currents flowing through the pair. Fenris could have stayed like this forever, the two of them hopelessly tangled and wound together too tightly to ever be completely separated.

His hands abandoned her face to run down her slender neck and over the generous curve of her breast to settle at the flare of her hips. His fingers turned slightly downward, a promise, a tease, to her thighs. She released his shoulders to follow his lead. How Fenris wanted so desperately to feel the soft palms of her hands against his bare chest, provoking both the flames ignited by them and the lyrium so pleasantly addicted to her. Even without a direct touch, they flared just from being so very close, as if blushing and antsy.

But she stopped there and pulled out of their intense kiss. She giggled, breathless, content, and tickled the loveliest shade of pink, "Is this how you're going to greet me from now on?"

"I might," Fenris felt clogged and overwhelmed, "Hawke, I," He abandoned her waist and cupped her face again, "I dreamt I had lost you. That you were taken. That I failed."

"You couldn't fail me, Firefly," She spoke softly as she traced the lines of lyrium on his neck and chin, "Whatever happened couldn't have been your fault. I'm sure you had no way of knowing anything."

"It was," He hoped the statement came off as firm as he wanted, "Danarius continues to hound me even from his grave. I fear I'll never be rid of him."

"I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but you aren't wrong, Fenris," Hawke shifted uncomfortably under him and gently pushed against his chest. He lifted himself to sit, bringing her up with him, "Whether you like it or not, Danarius has shaped your life. He's a large part of it. You shouldn't forget about it, but neither should you stay angry about it forever. Makes nightmares worse,"

Hawke frowned, "I'm really, really bad at this. It's not the same, but I was angry about Bethany's death for a very long time. It was only when I set that anger aside and stopped beating myself up over it that I could sleep. Sure, sometimes I swear I see her out of the corner of my eye. I go to say something to her, turn even to look her in the face when I say it, but she's not there. Danarius isn't there anymore either. He can't get you."

"It wasn't Danarius himself," Fenris admitted, "It was Iason, his would-be apprentice. He lost to Hadriana, but it didn't stop him from worshiping him," Fenris bared his teeth in disgust, "I had thought Hadriana horrid, but Iason would have undoubtedly been much worse. The dream only confirmed that for me."

He was done speaking of it all, he decided. He'd much rather go back to losing himself in her and putting Danarius far away in a rusted cage to be tortured. She didn't seem to want the same. Something dark and mournful flickered on her expression briefly. Fenris caught it before it could slip away unnoticed, and he felt the dread drop into his stomach. She wouldn't meet his eye, despite his best efforts in gaining back her attention.

"I'm sorry," The apology sent a quivering chill through him, "I can't say you were dreaming, Fenris."

"What?"

"The Templars, Iason, the blood magic, me being taken, your wound," As Marian's hand passed through his hair, a splitting ache flared, setting his teeth aflame and his eyes drowning with the sting, "All of it."

Fenris took a moment to collect himself, "No. That's a lie. It was a terrible nightmare."

"Please, let me explain-"

"It's not true," Fenris muttered, but even as he did, even as he shook his head in denial, the throb of his wound smacked with objection and truth. No, if it had all been real, those humans Finley and Jessie would be fussing over him still, "You wouldn't be here."

Finley and Jessie. Had they ever been real? Humans had never been so kind to him. Only if they were connected with Hawke did they give him the slightest bit of affection and care. They must have been something his traumatized brain had conjured. But how had he really hurt himself then? Had he smacked his head on the ground? Fallen off a precarious rock-ledge? Whipped around too fast to answer the call of his name and ran directly into Marian's damnable staff again?

"Fenris-"

"No! It was a dream! You would not be here if I had failed!"

"You didn't fail! You couldn't have known! We were taken by surprise! It happens, Fenris. We just-just made a mistake," She shook her head angrily, "No. We didn't make any mistakes. Iason did."

Fenris seized her by her shoulders, startling her thoroughly with both his suddenness and fierceness, "How are you here then, Hawke? If I was hurt, if you were... taken, how are you here?"

She didn't answer him right away. Instead, she searched his face to find some inkling of calm, something she could latch onto and not insure a full eruption of hatred, denial, rage, and, worst of all, silence. She couldn't afford to have Fenris shut her off from him, but she knew, even after all the years of slowly being welcomed gently into the goodness magic could provide, he still loathed what it could do, the potential for destruction and devastation.

"Will you listen to me? Will you listen to me without getting upset? Hear me out completely? I don't have a lot of time, Fenris, and I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't believe me."

"Why wouldn't I believe you?"

His tone would have frightened her if she wasn't prepared for it. To the untrained ear, it would simply Fenris speaking in that chocolatey gravel so very unique to him. To Hawke, she heard the unmistakable dip, the slightest deepening of his tenor, that signaled darkness and promise; it was the very same voice he had used with Hadriana before he plunged through her ribs and crushed her beating heart.

"Because you're afraid of me," Hawke stated firmly, holding his gaze for an eternity.

He softened like clay under methodic, deep kneading. He wouldn't deny her accusation; he knew it to be true. Somewhere in the depths of himself, Fenris was afraid of what Hawke could possibly do.

But he was not, nor would he ever be, afraid of  _her_. She was wrong only there. Hawke, unlike so many, was in complete control of herself, and he trusted her to walk the hazardous beam of temptation without falling or faltering. She was what every mage should aspire to be.

If only he could put that into words unbiased and gentle. Somehow, he knew she knew how he felt. She always did.

"I'll listen," He finally said, feeling his voice quiver in the air between them and mingle with the sigh of relief she released.

"We're sleeping right now," She began, immediately cursing at her stupidity. It wasn't the best place to begin, but it would have to do, "This is the Fade. I've been waiting and searching. It's not as easy as he made it out to be."

"He?"

"An elven mage," Hawke shook her head, tossing the coal-black tresses of her hair about, "I don't really remember his name. Sol? Solace? Solstice?**" She scoffed, "It doesn't matter. I found you. I just need to tell you where we're going. I've only been awake enough to grab snippets."

"Hawke, don't rush."

"I have to rush! You or I could wake up any minute! Time doesn't work the same here, Fenris-!" She stopped and worried her bottom lip, a telltale sign of Hawke trying to rein herself in. She did it often since defeating the Arishok, since fleeing Kirkwall, "We passed this tavern called The Witch's Brew, and I heard one of the Templars say something about Perivantium and Val Dorma?"

"Vol Dorma," Fenris corrected, "Those are Imperium cities."

"I had made that guess myself."

"Imperial Highway cities at that. Taking a direct route," Fenris sneered, "Idiot."

"Don't you even dare comment on how stupid he is for going the direct way. Now isn't the time."

Something about the landscape flickered around them. Fenris couldn't quite catch the change, but found himself concentrating on his surroundings more than Hawke.

She was losing him, and what was worse was, in the state he was showing he was in, she feared he wouldn't remember anything she had said. Dreams were the worst. How Dreamers ever managed to accomplish anything was a marvel.

"I never imagined you would back down from an easy jest, Hawke," He said offhandedly.

"Fenris, please, stay focused. Stay with me. I know it's hard to do. It's disorienting here, and you are very tired."

"I am tired," Fenris said, as if just realizing his fatigue.

He just wanted to sit by the fire, listen to Varric spin yet another tale for Merrill; watch as Carver desperately tried to gain her back her attentions; swat Isabela away whenever she got bored of sharpening her blades; catch Aveline and Donnic slip from the group out of the corner of his eye; and even enjoy the smells of freshly crushed herbs Anders meddled with. As he imagined it, it all sprung up around him. His friends filled the vast silence with their noise, familiarity, and warmth. Only he and Hawke stood, and his resolve was quickly fading, his body beckoned by the call of the spots left open just for them.

Hawke grabbed his arm before he could sink down and fall into the fantasy, "Fenris, I don't know what to say or do to keep you with me."

"Where did this come from? I'll always be with you."

The scene changed to something quiet and private as his right hand came up to rest against her cheek. It lacked nothing; not the cold touch of his gauntlets against the stark hot contrast of his fingers nor the flood of memory and emotion that came streaming through him to her. He touched her like this after she had declared nearly the same in the aftermath of Danarius's death; he wasn't alone. He had her, and she him. She remembered following the action, placing her hand on top of his, and burying her pinky into a fold of the red favor on his wrist.

It hit her hard.  _That damn bit of cloth_.

"Fenris," She whispered, hardly able to breath around the bubble of air caught in her chest.

Marian followed along the path set out for her. Again, she found herself placing her hand over his, but instead of cuddling closer to the warm palm presented, she made him follow a path of her own. It was a trail he was familiar with and loved to travel. Her neck, her chest, her stomach, her hip, her thigh, and she stopped there. With a deftness that enraptured him, she pushed his fingers achingly slowly through the slit in her robes and let him grip the hard muscle there. Trapped under his excited, firm grasp was his red ribbon of cloth.

Calmness and loving interest were quickly replaced by confusion. The favor never left his wrist. He would never lose it. He hardly let it out of his sight when it needed to be removed.

Recognition pricked at his brain like thousands of pins. He nearly crushed her thigh in his fist as the memory replayed itself. Marian had took it from him. Marian tied it around her thigh. Marian had seductively pushed open her robes and said-

"You want it?" He could only nod dumbly. There was no lust or play in her voice, only a giddy urgency, "Come get it. Perivantium. Vol Dorma. The Imperial Highway. Let's find each other."

.::||~||::.

For the third time, he awoke with a jolt. He hovered between certainties. Hawke was nowhere near this time, waiting for him to stir, but neither were those two humans.

If they ever existed at all, he thought somberly.

A hiss whistled through his teeth at the sharp sting splitting his head in two. Involuntarily, he jerked his head and tried to roll onto his side to scramble away. As it was, he couldn't gracefully control anything he did and only managed to fall off the raised bed he found himself in. An arm shot out alongside a cry and caught him around the middle before he could find himself as a heap on the floor.

Of course, he immediately tried to wiggle out of the hold.

"Bah! Elf! Don't move!" The voice made his teeth ache and a hot rage boil his stomach acid, "I was almost finished too," The man growled.

"Release me, abomination!" Fenris snapped, markings alight, "I don't need help from your ilk!"

"But you'll take it from strangers?" Anders retorted with a snort, "I'd almost gotten all the pus from your wound and nearly broken your fever, and all you have to say to me is get the fuck off? No, 'thank you, Anders. You saved my lanky ass from a slow, terrible death.' Or, better yet, a simple 'I appreciate you not letting me die' would suffice. Or- Ow!"

Anders jerked away, abandoning Fenris and allowing him to hit the hard floor with a harder thud and a groan. The mage slapped a hand over his now bleeding forearm and encased it in a green, healing glow.

"You bit me! You ACTUALLY bit me!" Anders yelped, "You broke the skin too! Animal!"

"I told you to let me go," Fenris growled as he forced himself to his feet.

Using the shelves and wall as a support, he shakily made his way from the bed toward the door, knocking about all manner of things out of his way; however, the tremors in all his limbs, the aches in the muscles of his legs, and the unrelenting throbbing in his head forced him to his knees halfway to his destination. He had no choice but to stop and pant back some usable stamina.

"Serves you right, you stubborn bastard," The mage quipped, looking over the now sealed skin of his arm and making his way to the fallen elf, "I'll be as simple as possible. You are sick. You are hurt. You are no help. You need rest. Easy enough?"

"Do not antagonize me, filth!" Fenris roared, "I need to-"

He couldn't finish his ireful rant. His shouting had knocked something loose in his wound, prodded it with an insistent stick against its sleeping bear. Black flecks danced like fire sparks across his vision in warning of his soon-to-be-lost consciousnesses. He couldn't fall back to sleep now. As much as he wanted to, as much as he would rather bite the hook that was Hawke (who, for all he knew, was waiting for him just beyond the veil), he couldn't. He had to find the  _real_  Hawke, the one he could  _really_  ravage and pick on and sleep beside and comfort and quarrel with. Anders couldn't stand in his way.

Fenris would not allow him to. He'd been enough trouble, and he had been rid of him once.

"Yes, I know, Fenris," Anders answered, suddenly and without anger or vengeance. Had Fenris been speaking? Had his thoughts been voiced aloud? "What good are you like this, though? We need to know everything that happened, so we can help-"

"I did not come here to speak to you, Mage," Fenris spoke through clenched teeth. His own heartbeat was aggravating his wound, "I came to speak to Varric! I'll call on you if I need to blow up a Chantry or an orphanage or wherever else people need sanctuary! Maybe we should start with the bar!"

Anders said nothing. He could not. The only thing he could do was tense every one of his muscles and hold Justice at bay. As much as he hated Fenris in this moment, as much as he hated Fenris in times past, he could not strike him down; he was still a patient, a morally-skewed, irritating, Hawke-stealing, judgmental, unstable patient. Hawke would have wanted Fenris healed, if nothing else.

So he knelt, pushed back Fenris's hair, and set back to work, or at least tried. Fenris would not be quiet or still. Anders had expected as much.

"You are lucky," Anders spoke in a soft whisper. He heard Fenris growl about luck and stupidity and releasing him again, "I'm guessing a blade hit you. Any sharper, and it would have sliced clean through your skull, killing you. Any duller, and it would have made your brain swell, also killing you. The cut it made was enough to relieve the pressure your brain would have otherwise caused. It saved your life."

"Do not choose what you hear!" Fenris raged, slamming a glowing hand against Anders's chest above his heart, threatening to push through his skin at any moment, "I said release me, damn you! I will talk to Varric even if it means I smear your heart across the walls first!"

"Go ahead, Beast. Crush my heart. You've been asleep for two days, and this wound has tried its hardest to fester. I would love to see what one day without treatment would do," Fenris's light dimmed, and something close to recognition sparkled like dew in his green depths. Anders smacked his hand down and continued his work, "Varric is not here at present. Though, I'm sure he'll be back shortly. He doesn't go far or stay gone long. He worries for you," Anders snorted, "Can't imagine why. Doesn't seem to think you can care for yourself."

"Good to see you two getting along as swimmingly as always."

Both men looked to Varric as he quietly shut the door behind him. The tizzy Fenris had worked himself into returned almost immediately. Forgetting his past failures, and using Anders as a support, Fenris stood. Anders quickly grabbed his wrist, to which Fenris tried to shake him off.

"Varric, I need your help! Hawke is- Release me, Mage!" Fenris yanked away and threw himself slightly off-balance, enough to throw him against the nearest shelf, break it, and go crashing back down.

"He never learns," Anders muttered, refusing to come to his rescue again.

Luckily, Varric was there to do the job Anders would not, "Gone. I know, Fenris."

"Then why aren't you-! Why are we not-" Fenris ground his teeth. His anger was not doing wonders on his head. He needed to find a middle ground unless he wanted his skull to split in half like two pieces of a hastily fixed vase, "Iason. That's the name of the son of a bitch that took her," He rumbled, feeling a throb in warning, "He's heading to Perivantium and Vol Dorma. Probably on his way to Minrathous."

Varric shook his head, "Out of all the places."

"Knowing what you do, I'm surprised you came back here at all instead of heading out on your own and dying on the path."

"Anders," Varric groaned.

"I-I only just," Fenris put the heel of his hand against his temple. Blood, so dark it left black paths, dyed his skin and hair as it lazily crawled from its den, "I only just learned."

"Andraste's ass, there it goes again. It was only a matter of time before it opened with all that thrashing," Anders huffed, "It took forever to get all that blood out of your hair the first time."

"That's what you're worried about?" Varric would have laughed had there been room for it, "Listen, Broody, I have my best people looking into it. Now that we know a couple places, it'll only be a matter of time. Take it easy. Get better. I promise I'll wake you up the moment I hear something, and you can be sure I'll let you handle this Iason character. Hawke will be back with us in no time."

Fenris wasn't so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently, Rowan is the only romanceable character and is attracted to both genders and all races; he is the hardest romance in the game. You may, however, flirt with Jessie for cute and bashful dialogue. Finley is just there and is frequently a butt.
> 
> ** Thanks to a friend who suggested this. If you didn't catch onto who Hawke was referring to, then go play Inquisition. Though, if you haven't already at least started to play Inquisition, then you're life is incomplete, and I wish you the best.


	3. Chapter 3

"Remember when I showed you this?" Her voice drifted on lazy, quiet turbulence from the fire behind them. Yet another night they were spending outside the comforts (albeit few) Kirkwall provided, "I thought you didn't like it. It's kind of on the childish side."

"Hawke, have I ever given you the impression that I didn't enjoy your layers?"

Her giggle soothed him, but also strummed the chord of sadness in his chest, "Hmm, wasn't it you who said, 'Attacked by dwarves, approached by strangers, stumbling upon ancient riddles... madness.' A layer you seemed to not enjoy."

"Only because you were in constant danger."

"Story of my life."

"I can safely say that Hand Shadows are a manageable layer."

Her laugh again, and for the second time, Fenris felt the air in his lungs go icy, "Shadow Puppets, Firefly."

He nodded, "Yes. That's right."

On the rocks in front of them, the exaggerated, yet simplified silhouette of a fox's head appeared, but it didn't last long and morphed into a rather large, lumpy spider. Hawke smirked and made the arachnid wiggle its legs.

"This was Carver's favorite. I cannot tell you how many times he tried to scare us with it. 'Oh, no! The spiders from the field are on the window! Bethany! It's gonna get you first!' She fell for it exactly once. Every other time, Carver got popped hard enough to leave a nasty bruise."

Fenris coughed out a chuckle. Carver could claim until he was blue in the face that there was nothing he had in common with Marian, but they shared a deep love for stirring up trouble. Perhaps it was just a Hawke trait. Regardless, Fenris could see Marian doing the exact same as Carver given the chance.

"This one though," Hawke winked as she changed her hands, "This is the best one."

The shadow of a Mabari's head greeted him when he looked up, "Ah, yes, I have to agree."

"Damn right you have to. Lookit that perfect baby. I need ten."

"You want ten Mabari?"

"Twenty, if I can get away with it."

"Buttons would be mighty jealous."

"He'd be too busy trying to keep up. That old mongrel."

Another chime of light chuckles. Yes, he supposed he would. Twenty puppies to all gang up on one retired warhound. It would be a sight to behold, but it would surely wear the old boy out. Fenris already felt mighty sorry for him.

Hawke's hands moved again, their shadows no more than shifting ink-spots on a dirty backdrop, until they settled into something recognizable. Its profile was startling at first. So long had it been since he'd seen the creature, that for a moment, Fenris had the urge to look over his shoulder to see the beast in full, to jump out of its way before it decided to steer its course toward them and trample all in its path. It took a great deal of effort, but he held those urges at bay and stamped down all the associated memories with them.

"This was Bethany's favorite. She always wanted to see one. Whenever the merchants from far north would roam into the Chantry, we'd wait outside to ambush them and beg them to tell us stories. She always asked about elephants."

"In the Imperium, especially Seheron, they weren't uncommon," Fenris added softly, but there was no fondness in his tone, "They were treated badly if owned and worse if wild."

Hawke had nothing to say to that. It seemed like a great many things were mistreated in Tevinter. The Land of Ever Shifting Injustice. As much as people told Anders that it was the best place for him, the more Hawke heard, the more she was certain that anywhere else was better.

She swallowed. She didn't want to think of Anders. The hot coal he had forced into her stomach had never quite cooled since... everything. It was best not to think of that either. She'd made her choice, and despite the betrayal and regret and every other emotion she could possibly feel about the whole damn shit stew, she had to live with it. And she would.

Though, at this point, she wasn't sure for just how long.

Hawke took Fenris's hands in hers suddenly and started posing his fingers, "You remember the one you mastered?"

A bird in flight appeared on the rocks where the elephant once was. Hawke's hands slid down the backs of his, tracing the lines of lyrium there, down his wrists and arms, and fell away at his elbows. Her faint sigh wasn't unheard, nor the dimming in her aura unnoticed.

She spoke before he could inquire, "I won't be there when you get to Perivantium."

"What?"

"You probably won't even remember me telling you this, will you?"

"Hawke, make sense," His hands dropped, "Why would I go to Perivantium?"

"To find me."

"You're right here."

Her smile held no happiness, and her hand was cold on top of his, "Only for right now," His brows knitted, and she pressed on, "I've left something for you. It's all I could manage before I was-" She cleared her throat, "-Reeled back in. It might be a little hard to find, but I know you'll stumble across it. Fenris, I just had to leave you some proof. Proof that you're not just chasing ghosts."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

Again, Hawke brought his hand up to pose it, but instead of falling away, her thumb hooked around his slender digit, while the rest of her fingers spread out and away, forming half of the bird he made. 

.:||~||:.

"-Taking his word on this."

"What else do we have to go on, Blondie? Besides, if anyone could do it, it'd be Hawke."

"Demons can just as easily."

"Why lead us to Perivantium then?"

"Thinner veil?"

"We both know there are places a lot closer with thinner veils."

"A magister then. Luring out the rest of Hawke's friends."

"It was no demon," Fenris interjected as he shifted. The sway of the carriage, the white noise of rocks crushed beneath wooden wheels, and the smell of hay and rope was nearly enough to lull him back to sleep, "And no magister rightfully cares very much for the Champion's former companions. The chaos that had been stirred no doubt created a wealth of opportunities. I imagine at least one of us would be thanked."

"I suppose that was directed at me."

Fenris's emerald greens slid to his right and cast a tired once-over to Anders. He shook his head; not in denial, but in fatigue. Too many times already, Ander's decisions had been argued over.

"Are you denying the chaos or the opportunities? You would be wrong on either account."

"About being thanked."

"That is also the truth. It wouldn't necessarily be you. Hawke would have her fair share of congratulations."

"Yet you wouldn't say that to her face."

Fenris sat up a little straighter, tiredness falling from him like boulders down a hill, "I hardly need to say that to her."

"Blondie," Varric warned, "Broody."

"The fact is you wouldn't."

"She already knows!" Fenris snipped, "I don't need to say these things to her because Hawke is smart enough to embrace the truth. Something you fail at!" His head throbbed with the last remnants of injury as his volume raised just the slightest. He took a breath to calm himself. He was letting this squabble get too far under his skin, "How far until Perivantium?"

"Nearly-" Varric tried.

"I know my faults, elf!"

"-There," The dwarf clasped his hands together in defeat.

"Apparently not enough of them," His eyes narrowed on the mage sitting near him. He rose to his feet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not-"

"You sit here and whine about your issues, drawing all focus to you, when Hawke is the one in need of the most help. Draw more insults from facts, mage. Siphon in every letter and think them a slight against you," The cart stopped, and without hesitation, Fenris drew back the cloth shielding them from the afternoon sun, "I don't have the time or the patience to deal with your tantrums."

The elf hopped from their shelter. Anders continued to sit in the renewed dimness with jaw ticking as Varric sucked his teeth.

"Say it," Anders demanded.

"It's a hard place to be, between you two. I don't know how Hawke could stand it," Varric nodded his head in a little wiggle of thought, "Well, with any of us really. The whole gaggle clucked like chickens a time or two."

"That is not what you were going to say."

Varric seemed full of sighs ready to be released. He supposed it would be so up until they parted again, "We're all a bit... sore, Blondie. I'm just saying, maybe picking fights with Broody  isn't going to help anyone."

"I did not start a fight-"

Varric held up a hand, "You two go out of your way to throw barbs at one another on a regular basis even when we weren't hip-deep in this type of trouble. Now, I'm gonna tell him the same thing I'm gonna tell you: It can wait."

Varric rose to his feet and followed Fenris's path, leaving Anders to either stew or follow immediately. The archer found the white-haired elf focused completely on their driver, a jittery-looking dwarf, who was currently taking a wrapped bundle out of his hands.

"Thank you again."

"It was on mu'way. Thank ya for th'bread, serah," He ventured a generous bite, "Not oft'n I get paid in food AND coin. I like yer sort."

"I'd like yours more if you forgot us."

"Nev'r seen ya b'fore in mu'life. On the side of not seein' ya though, I'd feel pretty lousy if I didn't tell ya t'be careful. The rains have come finally. It's all slush and sludge on the roads. Everythin's slowed down from here t'Solas. Frum wut I've heard, three carts have vanished, and a dozen more broken. If ya continue on, might be in yer best int'rest t'wait."

"Waiting, unfortunately, is not an option."

The dwarf cocked his head just the slightest in understanding, but popped his lips with disappointment, "Luck t'ya then."

The wagon began to roll on ahead with the gentlest flick of the horses' reins. If gave just the slightest bit of swerve as it went; without their weight to anchor the back, the carriage threatened to be added to the growing list of accidents. If it was to happen, Fenris hoped the dwarf was at least very close to where he was going.

"Barely in the Imperium's borders and already running into trouble," Varric commented from behind him.

Fenris threw him a brief look, "Expecting anything different? I'm surprised we got this far without more interruption."

"We get lucky occasionally."

"Let's hope we didn't use it all on this one venture."

He took in the landscape ahead of them and immediately soured. Fenris had not seen Perivantium from this side, but he knew it, just like one knew every Imperium city if one lived in Minrathous. Even as a town on the border, it retained its roots and mood: arches and white, splendor and height, stone and noise, people of all walks and smells to match. A tower stood above all others and glared down at them from the considerable distance. It was a symbol of Tevinter's defiance and attempt at flashing supremacy. Almost every city had one, each trying to out-grand the next, and Fenris hated them all. The first time he passed through Perivantium whilst making south and ultimately winding up in Kirkwall, he wanted to burn it down. An Old God statue topped the peak of this tower, and Fenris saw it as one last grab at anyone attempted to leave the Land of Mages and Magic.

Had Hawke actually passed through, it would have been the first thing she saw. As if she hadn't had to suffer Kirkwall's own bound slave statues; now, she had to suffer one of Tevinter's justifications for their cruelty. Fenris could spit venom with the amount of anger rushing through him.

"What now? I don't suppose we can just go banging on doors asking about a magister," Anders queried from behind.

"If they came through, the best place to start would be the inn-"

"No," Fenris cut in, "He's dragging about a woman marked for slavery or worse. A room at an inn would be a kindness. Not to mention, Hawke may be wanted, but she still has more than a few friends. He is in a city that acts like funnel for those entering the Imperium from the Free Marches.  Iason wouldn't risk an inn. Too many eyes."

"So we have nothing then," Anders remarked incredulously, "Again."

"Only when it comes to Iason," agreed Fenris, "As for his Templars. Even the best guard gets restless. Especially here."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"This cesspool funnels both in and out."

Varric chuckled despite himself, "Well then, everything's explained."

Fenris led them away from the main streets, full of smiling merchants, families, and servants both free and not going about their various businesses, to the back alleys. Varric expected something very much akin to Kirkwall's Darktown -dirty, full of rotting corpses and food, begging poor-folk, and indescribable smells that singed nose hairs and blistered nostrils,- but much to his surprise, the side roads were both well-lit and inviting. He daresay it was almost comfortable.  
Even more so when they turned their first corner and found the alley positively ablaze with red lights, gossamer silks, golden baubles, ringing laughter, and, naturally, beautiful people. The Blooming Rose could take a few pointers from this garden. Varric nodded in appreciation.

"Not bad, elf. Working girls do hear everything. All a matter of asking the right person now."

"How do we know which is the right person?"

"I guess you'd know by how good it feels," Lithe fingers danced over the feathers decorating Anders's shoulder to the various beads and stitches at his front, "Or by how good they look. Or if they make you shiver," She sashayed into his view, a dark beauty worthy of temples and shrines, untouchable and pure, but somehow, by some miracle, she felt it necessary to grace them with her presence. She was flecked at all her angles with gold that shimmered and donned a deep green everywhere else; both natural and royal in equal portions. She curled her hands around Anders’s elbows as they slid down his arms, and smiled, "Quiver," Eyes down, she threaded each finger slowly and deliberately through his, "Shake. If you don't get a reaction, then it isn't right."

"That didn't take long," commented Varric.

Fenris folded his arms across his chest, "It never does."

"I'm Oliva," said the woman, "It's a pleasure."

"Pleasure's all mine."

"For now," Varric tittered.

Keen eyes rolled his way at the remark, but her refined smile held steady until she took him in, "Feeling left out? I do have specials for more than one, you know."

"We haven't the time," interjected Fenris, "Do the alleys still lead to the pens? Have any Templars been through here recently with," He scowled darkly, "Unique cargo?"

Slowly, her smile fell at its corners until it pulled into a tight line at his questioning. How brash could a man, let alone an elven one, be? Many an eye turned in their direction. Many more glinted curiously at the trio asking questions.

"I remember you," He waited impatiently, clearly not remembering her, "Yes, you came here-"

"Yes, hard to forget a glowing elf-"

"I never forget a face, let alone a well-endowed customer-"

"Well-endowed?" Anders shook his head, "Really?"

Varric couldn’t help his laugh or the snarky remark that followed, "That's necessary information."

"I would have remembered-"

"I have discounts for repeat clients-"

"We are not looking for-!"

"Why don't we step aside and discuss my payment?" Her grip on Ander's hand tightened considerably, near painfully, and she made a show of dragging him through the heavy curtains not too far ahead of them, "Come on!" She giggled. The clients and workers on the street waited for the meltdown, the demand for more information, the opportunity to make a quick bit of coin from the three travelers by force or bounty, but it never came. The vultures became seemingly convinced they had misheard the elf and left to go about their business, Fenris and Varric were forced to follow after the mage as he disappeared behind the fabric.

Fenris was the last to enter the almost literal hole in the wall, and he was the first to be attacked. A dagger, winding and sharp, was pressed to his throat, and his back found the wall as he was shoved hard against it. Oliva stood glaring, but didn't press any further. She wasn't so ignorant as to seriously harm the former bodyguard; she could measure a man's talent with a look and knew Fenris and his friends to be well-trained and dangerous, but that didn't mean she wouldn't give them a warning. She most likely wouldn’t win their fight, but should it come to that, they wouldn’t walk away unscathed. Fenris, however, didn't even feel the need to react to her.

"Have you lost your fucking mind, elf? Do you wish to see the entire alley killed?!" She wanted to scream, but could ill afford the attentions of others being drawn back to them. A hiss and coarse words would have to suffice.

Anders’s mana rose to glitter across his skin, and Varric took a firm step forward, hand on Bianca should things turn more sour, "Whoa there, bumblebee-"

"I am Oliva!" She bit in Varric's direction and quickly returned to Fenris, "We might be on the ass end of Tevinter, but we are still in the Imperium! You don't go asking around for where the pens are kept or-or unique cargo! Haven't you done enough to get people killed around here?!"

"I didn't-"

"If you say that you didn't have a hand in the murder of anyone in Perivantium, I will show you very quickly what one looks like," She pressed the sharpened edge against his neck just hard enough to cut through a few layers of skin, but not enough to draw blood, "A decade ago, shit went straight to the Void because of you! Augusta was executed for hiding you, and I can only imagine how many slaves were killed after they were found when you ransacked the pens!"

"Do not you speak as though I made the wrong choice freeing them!"

"Most were there of their own accord! Who are you to make their decisions for them?"

"Back on the slavery debate," Anders muttered, magic still crackling about his fingers and wrists, "Please can we save it for another time? Maybe when a madwoman isn’t brandishing a dagger?"

"As if you are one to talk-!"

Oliva sliced through their argument before it could catch fire, "What in the Void are you even doing here? You stole your freedom fair and square. Why come back to the Imperium? Freeing more slaves? Commendable in some circles, but incredibly stupid in my opinion," She spat and shook her head. She hadn’t the patience or the time to deal with men on suicide missions. Money was being wasted the more they spoke of and argued over nothing, "Even dragging friends into your personal war. They'll be dead before you can get out of the city."

"I am looking for my wife," Fenris rumbled. Like her, he couldn't afford to let his voice get away from him, "She is the unique cargo. She is the only reason I came back to the asshole of Thedas. You either have information for me or can point me in the right direction. Help or let us leave. I'm sure there are others in these alleys willing to help, just like Augusta."

"Don't throw her name in my face like you remember her!"

Still, Oliva softened considerably. She lowered her dagger and slid it back into its sheath on her thigh. Where there had been a woman ready to cut down a man ignorant enough to cause trouble stood one deflated by his argument. Reasonable or not, it didn't matter. There was hardly any debate strong enough to combat a capable man searching for the love of his life.

“How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

“I have no proof to offer.”

“None?”

“None.”

“Then why should I help?”

“You have no obligation, and you owe us no loyalty. It’s a question of morals and what you think you can earn.”

Anders shook his head behind Oliva at Fenris’s statement. Very few ever moved to the call of morals; hell, the mage could probably count on one hand, including himself, just how many people he had met who would act out of conscience and the need to help.

"Ah, shit," She swore as she scrubbed her forehead with her palm.

She turned away from Fenris, crossed the room in the startings of a pace, and weighed her options. On one hand, she most certainly could send them away. If anyone came asking, for whatever reason, she could say they were never around, or rather didn’t stick around for her services. That wouldn’t be a complete lie, and she could not be faulted.

"I'll help you, but I **am** getting something out of this. Gold! As much as you can get your sticky little fingers on. And I want a promise of secrecy. No one is to know about me," She paused in consideration, nodding as she came to her decision, "I also want your names."

"Why? So you can rat us out to the next person who offers you a better price?" Anders questioned.

"So I know who to bill for my trouble. And who would ask?” She queried, “You have people chasing you as well?"

"Not at the moment," Varric added, "Well, all of Kirkwall."

"All of Kirkwall," A deep scoff came from her throat, "Of course all of Kirkwall. But that changes little. You are not here, I am not speaking with you, and I'm still waiting. Tell me your names."

Anders shook his head, "No. We need a guarantee."

"Well, I can't fucking give you one. I'm a whore, not a saint."

"Fenris," The elf answered before Anders could argue the point.

"Just Fenris?"

"Just Fenris."

"Varric Tethras."

Oliva's face both fell and brightened in awkward combination, "Oh, I love your books,” She commented before she could stop herself. The tiniest blush of embarrassment heated her cheeks.

Varric smiled, "Delightful."

"Can this wait?" Fenris bit in exasperation.

"I wish it could," Oliva stood dejected and folded her arms, as if to keep herself from falling to bits. She looked to Anders, firming herself and pushing her admiration back for the moment, "But, go on. What about you?"

A solid minute passed before Anders replied, "Anders."

She repeated their names to herself and nodded, "You say your woman was brought in by Templars?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t heard of any recent Dalish imports. They’re quite the rarity. A Dalish mage even more so. She would have been much talked about should she have been dragged through here.”

“She isn’t Dalish,” He corrected, “Mage, though, yes, and human.”

“Oh. With your markings, I assumed-”

“Don’t assume,” He offered before switching paths, “If you hear that much, then you must hear more.”

Oliva cleared her throat and apologized more firmly before beginning to speak again.

“Unfortunately, I do not believe what I will say next will help, but I can offer a little.

"When Templars come through here, they usually head straight to the rooms near the pens. Guarding magister property, or new property. I guess it doesn't matter. They won't stay with a magister for, I don't know, aesthetic reasons if they're even with a magister at all.

"A few small groups of Templars came through here about three days ago. They're the most recent. Whether or not any are yours is another story. From what I understand, all stayed near the western pens, and almost all the girls that accompanied them haven’t spoken of anything out of the ordinary. Most of those Templars are no longer there."

Fenris scowled, "Of course they aren't."

"Those types never stay long, but they're in no shortage and highly predictable. The next wave should be in tomorrow or the following day. You came at the right time, otherwise your job would be a lot harder," Oliva continued, "I can take you to where they stayed. Though, I wouldn't count on finding anything."

"We still need to look."

"I understand that. I'm not stopping you. Just giving my opinion."

"You aren't paid or that."

"Now, now, let's play nice with our new, helpful friend," Oliva threw a smile Varric's way at his defense.

"What exactly are we paying her for then? To lead us by the hand around Tevinter where Hawke may not even be?"

"She was," Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat, "Is here. Iason is in no hurry. He thinks me dead and is in no rush to Minrathous to auction off his prize."

"You said he would be going to Val Dorma. Why are we even bothering with this if you're so confident in these dreams you're having? Why even look here at all? We haven't any proof beyond that."

"For one who had his life spared by Marian, you certainly are against finding her!"

"I'm not against finding her! I'm concerned about you being so blinded by your need and in such a rush to find her that you're not thinking this through! Your dreams could be the product of your own desires, or worse, a demon luring you further away from her!"

"You'd know everything about demons, wouldn't you, mage?" Fenris was beginning to boil, "Of course I'm in a rush! Why aren't you?!"

"Fenris, Anders," Varric was firm, but not nearly blunt or angry enough to pull their gazes away from each other, "Enough!"

“Justice is no demon!"

Fenris flashed blue. Damn the consequences of drawing all of Perivantium's attention, "I'd like more proof than your word! You’ve shown nothing in these past years to convince anyone otherwise!"

"Like I could give you enough proof to trust me!"

"There is no need to fight!"

"Is that not your argument against me? Demeaning, isn't it?" His lyrium markings grew dim, but did not go out completely, "I will find Hawke. With or without your help," He looked to Oliva, who looked more drained and exasperated by the moment, "Lead us."

"As if I have a choice."

"Oliva?" A high-voice came from the other side of the curtains, "Oliva, are you alright?"

A dark look was thrown at Anders and Fenris. Oliva crossed the room, deliberately shouldering both elf and mage as she passed them, and grabbed the fabric serving as her door to prevent it from being pried open.

"Yes, Delphi, I'm fine," Even Oliva looked unconvinced and more than a little disappointed with herself, "Just a little disagreement on who would go first, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure. Right as a line. Thank you, love."

There was a hum in acknowledgement, "If you need a joiner, so there's less turmoil, you know where I'll be," Delphi raised her voice just enough to be heard throughout the room, "I'm just as good if not better!"

"I've got a better handle," A nerve in Oliva's eyebrow fired in irritation, "It'd be in your best interest to find your own friends, instead of trying to steal mine. Better for all of us, in fact."

"Fine," Delphi sighed, "Just don't spread the rumor that I don't care."

Oliva waited a few heartbeats, listening to the sound of Delphi's feet on stone until it was impossible to tell which footfalls were which. Her grip eased, and her breath left her in a rush, "For a man who lived in the Imperium as a slave, the words 'discreet,' 'unseen,' and 'quiet' seem to not be in your vocabulary."

"They're there, just no longer used."

She shook her head, turned on her heel, and crossed the room, "This way then," Oliva bit, "Quickly, before the entire district comes to investigate."

She pulled back more curtains, and yet another passage was revealed to them. Obviously built for secret, quick escapes, the stone was narrowly carved and low to the ground.

"And here I thought I would have a quiet evening," She muttered, disappearing into the dark.

Fenris slipped through just after without so much as a glare, glance, nod, or rude gesture to his other companions. Anders, surprisingly, was the next to follow, murmuring as he did.

"My wife, he says. When did that come about?"

"Drop it," Varric replied, following after. 

.:||~||:.

"This as close as I will bring you."

They stood in the shadows of a narrow alley that fed out into a large courtyard. On one side, stood buildings bustling with life and light, most that likely inns, restaurants, and specialty shops. Blooming flowers and new paint, hearty laughter and smells of fresh food, warmth, joy, and comfort were all present. As pretty as a painting from a fairy tale with its white, gold, and maroon. It was utterly fake and that served its purposes just fine.

On the other side, it was quite the opposite. A high wall of dirty stone with a single, heavy, bolted door stood like an abusive guard overlooking the better half of the area. Dead vines clung to the rock and dug into the various crevices like burnt, gnarled fingers trying to claw their way up to freedom; the earth around the entrance was speckled with bits of rusted metal and braided leather and was kept dark with blood and sick.

Divided nearly directly down the middle; the contrast of light and dark was as stark as black and white. Too many times Fenris had seen such places. Holding pens for slaves all looked the same. They just got prettier the further into the Imperium one got.

"Thank you," offered Fenris, not for a moment tearing his gaze away from the task ahead of him.

Oliva frowned, "Do not thank me. I just led trouble straight where trouble shouldn't be. Besides, you're paying me. Gratitude is meant for the kindhearted," With a graceful turn and a flurry of sheer silk, Oliva began to walk back the way she came, "Be on the lookout for my bill, and, if you should get away, be sure not to lead the massive army of guards and Templars chasing you straight to my door."

They watched her leave, and Anders spoke, "Anyone else think it odd that she didn't take everything we had and write up a demand for the rest?"

"No," Fenris denied, "She expects us to die. A dwarf with no coin in his pocket means he paid someone to look the other way, or lead the way as the case was."

"Why help if she thinks we'll die?"

Varric shrugged, "Same reason Hawke helped people. To give them a chance."

Anders fell quiet. He understood that better than he cared to admit. With a deep breath, he too took in the vast open area ahead of them and thought about every little thing that could go horribly wrong. It hit him suddenly that they didn't, once again, have any sort of plan past getting to where Hawke was likely held.

"Alright, so, we've come to this again," Anders didn't want to constantly be the bearer of bad news, but shit, the elf and the dwarf were just so horribly optimistic as of late, "What do we do- What in the Void do you think you are doing?!"

The mage found his hands bound behind his back with cold metal cuffs. Fenris held him tight as he tried to struggle against them.

"Release me!"

"Shut your mouth!" Fenris hissed, "Do you want us caught? This is our way in!"

"I did not agree to this!"

"I don't need you to!" When Fenris was satisfied with the security of the cuffs, he let Anders go, letting him stumble forward and twist around like a worm on a hook.

"Whore son!" Anders bit, "Thrice blighted elf! I suppose you are just going to exchange me for Hawke then? Leave me in there to be a plaything?!"

"It's not a fate I would wish on anyone," Fenris stated clearly as he fixed cuffs on his own wrists, "No one is being left, and no one is being exchanged. Think of this as a disguise."

"Where did you even get these?" Anders struggled more, trying to find a comfortable position for his arms against his back, "Do you carry these about, waiting for an opportune moment to use them? Or is this Isabela's influence?"

"Ask our benefactor. I stole them from her quarters."

"Stole them-!"

"We will receive a bill either way, apparently."

Varric couldn't contain a chuckle at that, earning him a nasty glare from Anders. The dwarf cleared his throat, "I suppose I am to be your handler then?"

"Yes."

"As if that isn't odd," Anders growled.

"It's not uncommon,” Fenris glanced Anders over, “What is uncommon, however, is your lack of runes. Come here."

"I will not, WILL NOT, allow you to draw any suppressors on me!"

"As if I know any!" Fenris grabbed him, jerked him back, and awkwardly etched random lines across the metal's surface with the tip of a stone, giving them the look of magical containment, "No dwarf would dare show up at a pen with anything less than something extraordinary. While you are not an extraordinary mage, you're even less so as just a man. Besides, if the guards inside do not believe you dangerous, they'll be easier to surprise."

"Yes, by all means, demean me and give yourself praise!"

Fenris scowled, "I know how I appear. That is all to be said."

Once again, Anders found himself released and even more angry at Fenris's explanation. Fenris hopped through the hoop his arms made and wiggled to find the comfort lost by the cuffs.

"You haven't a weapon," Anders tried.

"I'll be sure to inform the highwaymen who robbed me that I require it," Fenris wasn't sure if he should laugh or frown. He settled with rolling his eyes, "Have I ever given you the impression that I needed a weapon to defend myself?" Anders had no reply, but Fenris waited a few moments to allow him to form one. When nothing surfaced, he nodded, "If you are finished trying to find a way out, let's go. Varric?"

"Really wished you had asked, Elf. Not exactly comfortable leading you two into a literal pit. Not after what happened last time."

"We managed the Deep Roads. We'll manage a pen. Just act as if you're supposed to be here, and we'll be fine."

Varric laughed, "Are you teaching me how to lie, Fenris? That is just precious."

"Someone must. You're terrible at it."

"Good to see some of Hawke's humor rubbed off on you."

Fenris's gaze fell to his bare feet. Some part of Hawke's personality inevitably wound up worming its way into another's if around her long enough. At the mention of her, of her humor and goodness and special brand of infectious affection, Fenris felt her absence much more keenly.

"I'm sorry," Varric apologized unnecessarily.

The elf shook his head. It wasn't his fault that Marian was no longer by his side. The blame was entirely on Iason. At the thought of him, Fenris easily put aside his blooming, black despair in favor of a much redder, more welcome, and more familiar blossom: revenge. Hawke back at his side first, and then Iason would suffer just as Danarius and Hadrianna suffered. Those goals had to be clear in his head, especially since he was now going to brave a full slavers' den.

"Let's go. Varric, you should be ahead,” Varric nodded and began to cross the courtyard. Fenris waited a moment, bowed his head, and fell into step, bidding Anders to follow, “Ten paces behind,” He whispered, “Do not raise your head.”

He wouldn’t outwardly show it, but it bothered him just how easily he fell back into the routine. Fenris was no stranger to shackles and collars, to rules and silence, but he had thought that after a little more than a decade, he would have been broken of the habit and familiarity. It seemed more time was necessary. More healing.

“We weren’t expecting more,” A guard was giving Varric grief. Fenris felt Anders tense next to him.

“Well, Serah, I wasn’t expecting to be here. Magister Maevaris Tilani of Minrathous sent a rather belated summons, and thus, I find myself on the road and in need of keeping goods secure.”

“Magister Tilani isn’t scheduled to have any formal engagements-”

Varric chuckled, “Formal engagements? Hardly! When has my cousin’s cousin’s widow done anything formally? The very thought.” With a sigh, Varric held up his hands and let them drop, “But, I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’ll just take my business and word elsewhere. I’m sure Mae will just be thrilled to bits to hear the tale of my stay in Perivantium. She’s sure to tell all her friends-”

“Wait, dwarf,” The guard grumbled while the other knocked to have the doors opened, “There’s no need to run your mouth. We have the room,” The entrance opened just enough to allow passage in single-file, “Follow closely.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this for a very long time; unfortunately, I lacked the motivation and ran into quite a bit of difficulty while penning this. Despite the multiple snags, I did have a good time! Fenris was surprisingly fun to write and play, and Hawke was graciously flexible. Hopefully after playing Dragon Age: Inquisition for a little bit, I will have more inspiration and pump out a couple chapters between days-long gaming sessions. I do hope you all enjoyed. Please tell me what you think!
> 
> P.S. From what I understand, 'Mellita' is Latin for "honey/sweetness/sweetened with honey" as an endearment, and 'Te valde amo ac semper amabo' means "I love you very much, and always will forever." Please correct me if I am wrong.


End file.
